A Trick of the Mind
by johnsarmylady
Summary: After an evening out John discovers that things in Baker Street are not all he though they were. An AU in 221B format, rated T for later language issues. This may not be fast updating.
1. A Trick of the Mind

**This story was suggested by a dream - yeah, I know, it sounds corny but it's the truth - it may not update frequently, depends on my mood and my other stories, but will be in 221B format as I seem to be lazily stuck in that mode.**  
**Disclaimer - none of the BBC Sherlock characters are mine...**

John had laughed at Sherlock's supercilious sneer; he had expected it, knowing the younger man's views on fantasy films.

"Go, John, you've been fidgeting since this film was released." Sherlock turned back to the kitchen table. "I have plenty to do here, and the peace and quiet will be appreciated."

Chuckling, John had trotted off, sitting enthralled through epic battles with spiders and orcs, and Bilbo's fearsome encounter with the firedrake Smaug.

Still buzzing he bounded up the stairs to the flat, not even feeling deflated when his flatmate barely acknowledged his return.

He shrugged mentally and made them both tea before grabbing his mug and a couple of biscuits.

"Going to bed."

Sherlock just hummed in agreement and kept his eyes glued to his microscope.

It might have been his overactive imagination, or it could have been the tea and biscuits he'd wolfed down before turning out the light, but he woke up at 3am sweating and out of breath, having run and fought alongside Bilbo and his friends.

However it wasn't just the dream that woke him, something felt wrong. Pulling some clothes on he headed downstairs.

"Sherlock?"

"In here John." the baritone voice sounded smoky.

John walked into the living room and stopped dead.

There, in the middle of the room stood an elegant dragon reading a book


	2. Fight or Flight

John's eyes widened and a shudder ran through his body as he stared at the creature before him. His eyes were drawn to the dark, pewter coloured scales that shimmered with each indrawn breath, the paler skin of its exposed belly rippling tautly.

Adrenaline kicked in and his muscles ached, suppressing the twitch of 'fight or flight'.

"You're shivering John," the deep smoky voice continued. "You should have put your jumper on. I'll light the fire…."

"Um, here, let me…." John forced his voice past the lump in his throat and took a step closer.

His eyes met the dragon's blue-green eyes, so like Sherlock's he realised, and in typically Sherlock style those eyes rolled.

Turning its head the dragon stretched his neck towards the fireplace. With a sound rather like a sneeze, a short spurt of flame lit the coals that were already laid and waiting.

"Did you just….?" John watched, fascinated.

"Well a full blown belch would have destroyed the wall." The creature's lips drew back in the semblance of a smile.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes John?"

"It really is you in there?"

A scaly brow rose, such a familiar movement that John almost laughed.

"I'm not _in_ here John, I_ am_ here." He gestured to his friend to sit down. "You have questions?"

"Hundreds." John replied. "But where to begin?"


	3. A Natural State

John sat back in his chair, noting how the creature simply sat on his haunches and laid his book to one side, his attention given entirely to the man sitting opposite him.

Still unsure, John dropped his head and glanced up through his lashes, his eyes quickly flicking over the dragon's body. Something in his demeanour must have changed because suddenly the dragon chuckled, a strangely warm and friendly sound.

"You've made up your mind that this isn't part of the dream that woke you, what convinced you?"

"Smaug is a coppery red colour, not metallic like polished pewter."

The angular head nodded, its sharp features registering the dragons pleasure at John's reasoning.

"Very good John, now ask your questions."

"Um, why? I mean, why this?" he gestured to large yet lithe body.

"This is me John, my natural state is dragon, not human." The blue-green eyes watched him keenly.

John frowned.

"I thought dragons were…" he shook his head. "So, is Mycroft a dragon too?"

"Yes, we are the last of our family." Sherlock shifted, curling his tail around his feet, and his wings twitched as if a shudder had run through him.

John felt the ice of pity settle in his stomach.

"Your family? But not of your kind?"

"Ah, that too." Sherlock shrugged. "The others, unfortunately, were butchered."


	4. Still Friends

"Can I ask what happened to…. to your family, to the other dragons?" Now that he had recovered from his initial shock, John found that he could recognise the changing expressions on the sharp face.

"Add to butchery the lack of natural habitat, less females being born, they all took their toll on the species." A sharp clawed hand gestured to the room. "Some of us adapted to new ways of life, but there is no way to adapt to the loss of breeding stock."

"So…. just you and Mycroft….."

"And I've never been so glad of having a brother in all my life."

Their eyes met, and the twinkle in Sherlock's forced a choked giggle from John. Suddenly it was as if a human sitting discussing procreation with a dragon was the epitome of normal, and they both started chuckling.

Even while they laughed, John found himself amazed once more by his friend, warmed by the humour they shared, while Sherlock was starting to allow himself the hope that their friendship was strong enough to survive this latest revelation.

As laughter subsided, John stretched out a hand.

"May I?"

Sherlock nodded, letting himself relax as his friend's hand tentatively touched the vulnerable skin of his chest.

"Oh! It's warm!" John exclaimed leaning forward in his chair feeling Sherlock's heart beating.


	5. Of Fire and Water

"If you want cold you need to talk to Mycroft."

"Really?" John looked up from his perusal of the slightly leathery skin of his flatmates chest and abdomen.

"We had different sires and are, if you like, different breeds of dragon. Mycroft is Ceald Draca, a cold-drake."

John's hands dropped away and he tilted his head, studying the dragon.

"What does that mean exactly?"

"He cannot breathe fire; in fact his breath can freeze a man to death. He's more at home in water than in warmth."

"That's odd, considering he would need a surgeon to remove that umbrella from his hand…." John commented.

Sherlock huffed a laugh, a small puff of smoke issuing from his flared nostrils.

"Unfortunately for him when his skin gets wet it glistens a silvery blue," he explained. "Easy enough to pass off in the winter, but who would believe a summer shower could leave him blue with cold?"

"And you?"

"I'm Fyr Draca, a fire-drake."

"Makes sense." John smiled, gesturing vaguely towards the fire blazing in the grate. "So your family…?"

"The flight always centres around the matriarch, my sire was her second mate."

"What happened to Mycroft's father?"

"If he was anything like Mycroft I imagine she shoved him in front of the dragon hunters."

John rolled his eyes. "He couldn't be that bad."

**A/N: The dragon 'types' are based loosely on Tolkien's work, and the names bastardised from Old English.**


	6. At a Loss for Words

Still leaning forward, John's eyes flicked over his friend and he smiled.

"You know, for someone so fond of the sound of his own voice you are unusually reticent in this form."

"I find myself at a loss for words, John." A phantom grin peeked out across the handsome dragonish face. "I have managed to keep this a secret for so long, my lack of concentration meant I didn't hear your nightmare until it was too late."

"Would you have changed back?"

"You would have been more shocked to discover me naked in the living room…."

"Yeah," John chuckled. "Like finding a dragon is more normal."

"What else do you want to know?"

"Everything… is Sherlock your real name? And how old are you? Hundreds of years old…."

"Thousands John, and every now and then Mundbora and I vanish, we move on…"

"Mundbora? Really?"

"Old English, it means protector." Scaled shoulders shrugged. "He always felt he should live up to his name."

"And you?"

"Never felt the urge to live up to mine. Swígúht, it means Dawn of the Days of Silence," He shook his head. "Almost as if Mother had a premonition about the future of our kind."

"But if dragons could change shape, I mean you and Mycroft…"

"Have had to learn to extend our time in human bodies."


	7. A Tale to Tell

Sherlock urged his friend to make a cup of tea while the dragon gathered his thoughts, and when he returned Sherlock tried as best he could to explain the unexplainable.

He told of shape-shifting tricks, learned as dragon-kind became fewer in an effort to help protect them as they moved from place to place, and for a while it had worked.

"But it was a short lived remedy; we couldn't hold another shape for more than a few hours. And it was easier for fire drakes; cold drakes like Mycroft gave themselves away with their unfortunate skin." Turning his head, he stared into the flames. "Human form is the easiest for us, but our lack of knowledge was too often a disadvantage."

"So you learned…."

"As you say John, we learned, Mycroft and I, every chance we had. And as the world became more 'civillised' we had more chances to learn but far less places to hide." He looked back at his friend. "We took turns, practicing staying in human form for longer periods of time, evolution teaches us that life must adapt or die, although I sometimes think in our single minded pursuit of life we forgot….."

For long moments there was silence, then

"We forgot we would be the last, living for years friendless, alone, with nowhere to belong."


	8. A Declaration or Two

"Well that's bullshit and you know it!" John leapt to his feet. "What the hell are we?" his hand gestured between the two of them.

Sherlock's nostrils flared.

"We're flatmates John, how can we be more when I've kept this from you for so long?"

"Prat." Taking a step forward John stared into the blue-green eyes. "You've just laid out for me in plain English the reason you and your brother needed to keep this secret."

Feeling the dragon's hot breath against his cheek made him aware of how close, how threatening a stance he was taking, so he moved, putting some distance between them.

"Sherlock, you know that you can trust me, that should be a given. You are my friend, my best friend, and anything you need to help keep you and your brother safe well…. you can count on me."

He stared at his bare feet, knowing that what he was about to say might make his friend sneer at the sheer sentimentality of it.

"I'll always be your friend Sherlock, no matter what."

The long scaled neck stretched forward so that Sherlock could look up into John's face.

"And I yours John."

He smiled, drawing back.

"And I really ought to make you aware that unless I'm much mistaken, Mycroft is likely to arrive here before breakfast."


	9. Food for Thought

"If Mycroft's on his way then I need tea." John declared, walking to the kitchen. "Do you…." Pausing he frowned over his shoulder.

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow.

"I mean…. do you drink tea when you're…."

"A dragon?" Sherlock finished for him. "No thank you, it's not so nice sucking it up from a large bowl. I take in more than enough fluid in human form, thanks largely to you."

"Um…. Right." John returned to what he was doing, quickly making his tea and returning to the living room. "What about food? Do you eat in dragon form?"

"Only people." The dragon grinned at him.

John chuckled. "Okay, I consider myself warned."

"We are omnivores, in our natural state we would live mainly on carrion, bulking it up with vegetation where necessary."

"So where did Mycroft get his taste for cream cakes?"

"I assure you John my brother exaggerates about my diet." Mycroft's voice carried from the front door of the flat.

The smaller man jumped to his feet and turned to face the newcomer.

"Bloody hell Mycroft! Don't you ever knock?"

"I rarely see the necessity." Came the droll reply.

John stood aside as the elder Holmes walked closer to his brother.

"Leave us"

The growled command sounded more dragon than human, and John looked up to see Mycroft's teeth bared.


	10. Confrontation

"Sherlock?" John turned to his flatmate, his eyebrows raised.

The dragon glanced carefully at his sibling then looked back and gave the barest of nods.

"Um… I'll be up in my room if you, er, if you need me."

There was silence as he ascended the stairs, yet as he opened his bedroom door he heard a low growl.

"What were you thinking of brother? Have you run mad?"

Mycroft's voice was unmistakably angry, and John was tempted to listen in, but another growl showed him the wisdom of retreat.

He lay back on his pillows, head resting on his hands and watched dust motes fly.

A wry smile flickered across his face as he mulled over all he had learned. John wasn't sure how long he had laid there thinking when his reverie was interrupted by crash and a snarl. He leapt off the bed and bolted down the stairs.

The two dragons were standing facing off. A chair in the kitchen was lying on its side, having been knocked over by Mycroft's long sinuous tail, his clothes fallen to the floor as it tipped.

"What the…"

Mycroft drew himself up, puffing up his chest and turning his head bared his teeth.

"You…!" it was half accusation, half curse, chilling the blond doctor with the force of Mycroft's freezing breath.


	11. Protection

John took a half step back, warily watching the older dragon.

Unlike his pewter coloured younger sibling he was a dark silvery-blue, with hints of copper along his spine and tail, and unlike Sherlock he looked fiercely distrusting.

A deep warning growl sounded in Sherlock's throat, but Mycroft was already turning, his sharp fore claws reaching towards the smaller human.

In the blink of an eye Sherlock launched himself, pinning his brother to the floor, his own claws pressing dangerously close to his brother's jugular.

"Leave. Him. Alone." The fire drake shook his head, breathing a sheet of flame close to his brother's face, making him flinch away slightly before retaliating with a crackle of icy breath.

Propelled by powerful hind legs and tail Mycroft flung him off, moving surprisingly swiftly for such a cumbersome creature, leaving both dragons standing face to face once more, Sherlock strategically placed to protect John.

"He's a liability; it's too big a risk brother."

"No!"

"He can't be trusted."

"Oi!" John stepped around his friend, fed up with being discussed as if he weren't there. "You know I can be trusted, you've trusted me to keep your brother safe since the first time you kidnapped me, and the only thing that's changed is that I've discovered that he's even more unique than I first believed."


	12. The Bottom Line

Both dragons' heads snapped round to stare at the doctor.

"Don't be ridiculous, he's not unique." Mycroft managed to look aloof despite his harsh scaled face.

"Of course I am!" Sherlock sneered at his brother.

"Shhh!" John held up a hand as Mrs Hudson's voice floated up the stairs, demanding to know if everything was alright.

"Right." Captain Watson took control of the situation. "I'll go down and talk to Mrs Hudson, you two get back into human form…" he eyed the suspiciously agreeable expression on his flatmate's face. "Clothed please Sherlock."

He turned and hurried out of the flat, his bare feet padding rapidly down the stairs.

Mrs Hudson was looking up to him, her nightdress hurriedly covered by a fluffy pink dressing gown.

"John dear, whatever has happened up there? I heard a loud thud…."

"I'm sorry Mrs H." John plastered on his most endearing smile. "Just one of Sherlock's experiments, it flared up and startled Mycroft."

"Oh, Sherlocks brother's here? Isn't it a bit early for him to be calling?"

"He, um, he had a job for us, but I think Sherlock's turned it down." He gently guided her back to her flat. "Sorry you were disturbed."

"But that thud, John. What on earth caused such a noise?"

John thought quickly, then smiled.

"Mycroft fell on his bottom!"


	13. What Next?

By the time John returned to the living room the Holmes brothers were sitting opposite each other glaring only now there was, to John's newly opened eyes, a fiercer more primitive emotion written across their faces.

Moving to stand between them, he forced them to break eye contact and look up at him.

"I'm going to make tea and toast, and then the three of us are going to sit and discuss your concerns Mycroft." He said quietly.

Sherlock smirked at his brother as John left the room again.

"Brother can you not see this is too dangerous? He may be trustworthy with the secrets of Sherlock Holmes Consulting Detective, but with the secrets of Swígúht, Fyr Draca? You risk us both!"

"And what is it you fear brother? Our demise? Can you count the years we've been alone and on the run?"

"Swígúht, we are the last….."

"And nothing on this earth will change that. I have a friend now Mundbora, do you remember the last time that was true for either of us? I can't."

Mycroft studied the sadness in his brother's face.

"What do you intend to do?"

"Nothing." Sherlock raised shining, silver-grey eyes to meet pale blue ones. "I'll continue to be Sherlock Holmes Consulting Detective, and I hope that John will continue to be my blogger."


	14. The Win Win Situation

The silence in the room when John returned was palpable, and as he put the tray bearing three steaming mugs of tea and a plate piled high with buttered toast onto the coffee table he glanced at the Holmes brothers.

"Look," he said reasonably, taking a seat on the couch. "What's the difference between me living here with Sherlock not knowing what he really is, and me living here with one of only two remaining dragons and doing my best to keep him safe?"

Sherlock smirked at Mycroft. Mycroft just gazed at John as if he were a simpleton.

"No seriously Mycroft, tell me what your problem with this is? Because as I see it it's a win win situation all round, your brother doesn't have to worry about finding another flatmate and keeping it a secret, I don't have to find another flat…." He paused, catching something cold in Mycroft's expression. "Or were you planning on making me disappear?"

"No!" Sherlock's tea slopped onto the table as he banged his mug down in anger. "You won't do it Mycroft, I won't let you."

"You couldn't stop me." Mycroft's words were cold and hard, and John felt a chill run down his spine.

"You think not?" Sherlock expression became calculating. "Do it and I show the world what we are, brother."


	15. Challenge

John leaned forward in his seat, his eyes hard. "Time for you to put your money where your mouth is Mycroft Holmes; time to make good your promise."

"John…." Sherlock exclaimed.

"Why what do you mean John?" This was Mycroft at his smarmy best. He looked down his patrician nose at the doctor, his smile as false as his human form.

"Do it. Make me disappear, persuade your brother not to 'out' you both, then pray to whatever deity you guys believe in that he can find another friend because I don't think, given the conversation we have had, that he wants to be alone again." John shrugged. "You don't have to believe me but I actually like Sherlock, whatever form he's in, and I'll come back to haunt you if you hurt him."

Mycroft started laughing, a harsh humourless sound that was abruptly cut short as John launched himself from his chair, his hand gripping the older man's throat.

"Come on then Mycroft, show me what you're made of. Freeze me to death with your breath, eviscerate me with your claws." He leaned down and snarled in Mycroft's face. "What? Not man enough? Need to change?"

Mycroft pushed John away and stood, straightening his suit. He looked the smaller man over and nodded.

"You'll do, John. Look after my brother."


	16. What?

"What the fuck happened there?" John stared, perplexed, as Mycroft left the room.

Behind him Sherlock rose to his feet and closed the gap between them, snarling low and fiercely.

"That bastard." He spat angrily. "He had no right to threaten you like that."

John looked over his shoulder at the feral expression on his friends face and felt his own anger disappear.

"What did you say his name meant? Protector? Given the unusual circumstances, maybe this is how he thinks he should protect you."

"I am not a child…."

The doctor turned then to face him, and put a calming hand on his shoulder.

"No you're not, but you are his only brother, the only other one of his kind." He said softly. "Maybe he's afraid of being alone too."

"Then he should get a pet." Sherlock sneered, not wanting to admit that John might be right.

John noted that his friend hadn't denied that he was afraid of being alone; it was a very telling omission.

"What will he do now?"

Sherlock shrugged.

"That's anyone's guess. He seems to have accepted that you won't try to turn us in to the authorities…"

"Doubt they'd believe me."

"….therefore I don't believe he will do more than spy on us….."

"No surprise there."

"…..and be the usual obnoxious pillar of bureaucracy."


	17. As Time Goes By

It appeared that Mycroft was indeed happy to trust John. His visits to the flat remained few and far between, and tended to be at times when he required his brother's help.

Sherlock took a long time to forgive Mycroft's appalling lack of trust, but John just laughed at him, pointing out that him being miffed at his brother is exactly the same as him tolerating his brother… Sherlock sulked for hours.

If anything changed it was John's observation of Sherlock's methods. What he had always assumed to be a twitch of his nose he now saw was inevitably followed by a flash of tongue as the consulting detective appeared to lick his lips- but John knew differently now.

Sherlock was tasting the air, like a lizard scenting his prey, hunting.

John was careful not to draw attention to his new knowledge, and with every passing day the little white lie of normality became easier to uphold.

Their life took a new shape. Now they spent their evenings sitting in the living room, Sherlock in dragon form, talking. John was fascinated by the tales of Sherlock life and Sherlock loved to talk about himself.

And there was a benefit to this new routine. Sherlock could change every night if he wanted, so long as he was human in time for breakfast!


	18. Near Miss

If John had only realised all those times Sherlock had balked at going to hospital that the true reason was more a matter of biology that sheer pig-headedness, he would have been more sympathetic to his requests. So he started studying herpetology, trying to work out the best way to keep his semi-reptilian friend healthy.

Sherlock in turn became fascinated at being not the scientist, but the object of the experimentation. Not that John would admit to conducting experiments…..

"Have you tried this on me yet?" Sherlock picked up a vial of soluble pain relief powder and removed the stopper to sniff at the contents.

"Put it down! No! And this isn't a case of trying anything on you, you daft bugger." John snatched vial and lid back, sealing it and putting it back in his medicine case. "Bloody hell Sherlock, just leave things alone! I'm trying to put together an emergency kit; I need to know the drugs I reach for won't kill instead of cure."

Sherlock was to remember that conversation several weeks later, when a mis-judged tackle left him nursing a knife wound.

John worked swiftly to numb the pain and staunch the bleeding, stunning the assembled members of Lestrade's team as he ignored suggestions of a hospital visit and hailed a cab, bundling Sherlock into the back.


	19. A Vengeful Friend

"Well, there's no blogging the truth about this Sherlock." John stood well out of the way of the firemen as they fought to control the blaze.

"I'm sure between us we could come up with a useful sounding plot….."

"Not before you tell me exactly what happened here." Lestrade sounded furious. "You chased after this gang without back-up or thought for what might happen to the girl they snatched, and here I find you talking about making up a plot…"

"Whoa," John turned and held up his hands placatingly. "I only meant this isn't the kind of case I really want to blog the truth about. Child sex rings never make good reading no matter how brilliant putting a stop to one makes his lordship look."

Sherlock coughed into his hand, watching John out of the corner of his eye, just waiting for the right moment.

"Jenny is over there, being checked out by the paramedics, thanks to Sherlock pulling her clear before the fire took hold."

John grabbed Sherlock's gloved hand and held it out towards Lestrade. The palm of the expensive leather was scorched, ruined.

"Shit! I didn't realise…" Greg looked horrified.

"He'll be okay, and so will she since he made sure they'll never get to her or any other child." John snarled viciously. "I'm glad they burned"


	20. Passing

**Sorry Folks, this chapter carries an angst warning and Major Character Death.**

Sherlock stood in the doorway of the bedroom, watching as John adjusted the two intravenous drips that led into the silver blue upper limb of the dragon curled on a nest of cushions and duvets in the corner of room.

Keen eyes took in the worry creasing the doctor's brow.

"John?"

"I don't know Sherlock, the symptoms he's presenting with point to Metabolic Bone Disease." John sat with his back against the wall, unable to look at his friend. He rubbed a hand over his face. "I wish to God he'd called me sooner."

Sherlock quickly read through the information on his phone, looking up suddenly as the enormity of what he had learned sunk in.

"And you're giving him….?"

"Calcium and vitamin D3, but…" he shook his head, looking at the shivering creature before him. "I dunno, the fact that he changed back to dragon involuntarily, and doesn't seem able to understand or recognise us, I think the neurotransmitters in his body are breaking down, and whatever I do now will be too little too late."

"No." it was an anguished whisper, and John moved quickly to his side.

"You need to change Sherlock, I don't think he will last much longer." He said quietly. "Let him know he's not alone, he needs to be at peace with his brother."


	21. Sole Heir

John didn't ask how Sherlock found a body to pass off as his brother, nor did he ask what had actually happened to Mundbora's body.

Sherlock had turned sad eyes on him that night at the Knightsbridge house and asked to be left alone, and the next John had heard was that there had been a fire and it appeared that Mycroft Holmes, powerful member of the British Government, had died in the conflagration.

When the grieving dragon didn't return home for days John stretched his acting abilities, persuading Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and anyone else who asked that Sherlock, despite their differences, was more upset about Mycroft's death than he cared to let on and had locked himself in his room to avoid having to talk to anyone.

Two days before the funeral Sherlock reappeared, looking tired and drawn. In silence John made him a cup of tea and sat opposite him, waiting for him to speak.

When he did finally open up he sounded deflated.

"My brother spent much of his life making money and accumulating property, property of which I'm sole heir."

John held his peace.

"I want to sell it, all of it," the blue-green eyes looked up from contemplation of his hands. "All except the cottage and land that makes up part of Cole Wood, near Bexhill."


	22. Past Questions

Sherlock had grown to love the life he was leading as a consulting detective, and now that his brother was gone he didn't relish trying to start over with a new life, to say nothing of not wanting to leave Baker Street and his only friend, and he was finding it hard to broach the subject.

"Tell me again, why do you need to leave?" John frowned, trying to make sense of his friend's hurried and obviously reluctant statement.

Lacking the motivation to roll his eyes, Sherlock just looked pityingly at him.

"We always move on, staying in one place for too long is just asking for trouble."

"And now that Mycroft is…"

"It changes nothing John. I have to find another life."

John scratched at his chin, fingering the several days growth of stubble that shadowed the line of his jaw. The silence stretched.

"What are you thinking?" Sherlock asked finally.

"How did Mycroft accumulate so much property, if you had to keep changing identities?"

Sherlock looked startled.

"What has that to do with anything?"

"Just answer the question."

"He would leave it to me in his 'will', then I would sell it to his next persona, it was a bit complicated…."

"Sounds like it." John snorted. "Did neither of you consider the obvious solution? To simply 'age' your bodies?"


	23. Future Plans

It took a while for Sherlock to get over the fact that in trying to protect themselves he and Mycroft had over-complicated things. In short, as John had pointed out, they had been far too clever for their own good!

Meanwhile John watched, intrigued, as Sherlock stood in front of the mirror in the living room concentrating on his own face. As he stepped up beside him blue-green eyes slid his way.

"It mustn't be too marked, or it will look suspicious."

"Use me as a model?" John suggested. "You are good at observation; use the changes you observe in me to guide the changes in you."

Sherlock grinned at John's reflection, which grinned back, looking far too pleased with itself. Sherlocks eyes narrowed.

"Don't get cocky, Watson."

"Stop it, you're beginning to sound like me…. People will get suspicious if you stop being your usual arsy arrogant self." He turned away but Sherlock grabbed his arm.

"Thank you."

John didn't ask what for, he already knew that his flatmate was grateful for his help, his silence and his friendship, so he just nodded and went to lock the front door.

"You need to get that aging process right," He moved back to stand beside his friend. "Then we need to discuss how we play this without your cover being blown."


	24. Towards Retirement

Sherlock followed John up the stairs, watching carefully as the doctor limped slowly towards their front door.

"John." His voice sounded a little strange.

John turned in the act of hanging up his jacket, waiting.

A small uncertain smile crossed the detective's face.

"You know Lestrade's retiring next month?"

"I'd heard." John folded his arms and stared. "You have a point?"

Sherlock paused, and then he walked through to the living room, forcing John to move backwards as he kept eye contact.

"Sit down John, while I make tea."

That startled John out of his semi-stupor and he put the back of his hand against Sherlock's forehead.

"Are you ill?"

"Funny John, and no." his tone changed as he turned towards the kitchen. "But you are, or at least…"

No, Sherlock, I'm not."

"…you are finding the pace of this work is getting harder to sustain."

John's shoulders slumped, and he lowered himself into his chair.

"Is it so obvious?" he asked sadly.

"Only to me." Sherlock's voice was closer now, and the doctor looked up to read concern in his friend's eyes.

"What do you propose to do?"

"I propose that, when Greg retires, we do the same." He finished making tea and handed a cup to John. "What do you say to moving to the country and keeping bees?"


	25. Regrets

If either man had realised how little they would miss the thrill of the chase, they would have moved years earlier.

And if the sly comments about the 'two ageing queens who lived in the woods' ever reached their ears well, they knew the truth of their friendship and that was all that mattered.

John, his body finally giving in to the various injuries it had sustained over the years, spent much of his time writing his memoirs, his stories of life with Sherlock Holmes.

And Sherlock spent time experimenting with his bees and feeding John's sweet tooth.

"Try this." He offered a slice of bread and honey to his friend.

"Dare I ask what you've done to it?" John smiled and took it, taking a small bite and chewing thoughtfully. "Mmmm. Yeah, that's good."

"You'll remember those herbs I planted in the clearing? I set a new hive there about six months …"

He stopped suddenly, looking strangely at his friend.

"John, do you have any regrets?"

"Eh? Regrets about what?"

"Spending your time with me."

"Only one."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow.

"I regret never seeing London from a dragon's perspective."

With a small nod Sherlock went to his room and changed, then handed John his jacket and led him out into the rapidly fading light.

"Climb on my back….."


	26. End of an Era

**Here it is, the last chapter. Serious angst. MCD. And my deepest apologies for doing this to you guys...  
Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed...just remember that they're happy...**

By the time they were airborne it was dark enough to travel safely, and by the time they reached London it was lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Oh!" John breathed, entranced by the view below him.

Sherlock chuckled.

"And you thought the night sky was beautiful."

"Git!" He looked down. "Wait, is that…?"

"Baker Street, John."

Against his will John felt nostalgic tears trickle down his cheeks as Sherlock took them on a tour of the town they had worked hard to keep safe.

Feeling John shiver he turned and headed back to East Sussex.

"Going home?" John asked

"Yes John, going home." Sherlock's voice was soft, almost wistful.

As they reached the clearing outside their cottage he realised John was no longer holding him tightly. He looked round just in time to catch the doctor as he slid from his back, lowering him gently to the floor.

"John?" he looked down at the pale, peaceful face, and he knew that his best and only friend was gone.

Looking slowly around, he came to a decision. He didn't want to stay here alone.

The flames took hold of the cottage immediately. Sherlock picked up John's body, and holding him close walked into the burning building, hoping the noise of the falling timbers would cover the sound of his heart breaking.


End file.
